No. 33: The Hermit and the Roach
February 8th 2009 18:33
Visiting Friends
He tried looking out the window, but the snow was banked so high against his little house that he could see nothing but the reflection of white light from his one lantern. The front door would not open because of the same deep, deep snow that had fallen. He became reflective...
The hermit had chosen his lifestyle. He grew tired and weary "Yes-Sir-ing" to so many straw bosses overseeing him. He had felt a common bond with the peon in a Chilean melon field or the brick maker in Cairo. Manhattan has its place, he thought, and he would be the first to praise the easy access to shops, restaurants, parks and theaters. But, for him, he became lost in the humdrum of activity that was bearing down on his whole being. For over eight years, since leaving Kansas, he had become more and more isolated. Co-workers had worried for his sanity.
He arrived in Montana three years earlier. Since he had developed a comfort zone within himself he thought he would never need anyone. At first, he was content just to avoid the traffic, the subways, the people, people, people. But now, after so much isolation, he was longing for companionship.
"Oh," he thought, " if only I could just speak to a live person." It had been a long, bone-chilling winter. The isolation was now playing mind games with his psyche.
Since he had built the house down in the valley, he had managed to cut a tiny ditch from the cascading brook above. He was grateful that his foresight kept running water bubbling beside his house. Two summers ago, he had constructed an overhang over the brook cutaway, just outside the back door, thereby providing continuous access to water. But now, as he sat by the fireplace, he was genuinely worried. Did he cut enough firewood? Did he have enough food to last for another month until the spring thaw? He knew these were just more mind games, but he decided to ration the remaining food even more anyway. After all, It was 40 kilometers to the nearest town and store.
His stomach began a rolling pain indicating its desire for bulk. He walked over to the pantry looking at the canned fruits and vegetables from warmer days.
"GROSS," he thought. A roach was climbing on his last remaining box of saltines! He quickly reached for the fly swatter. As he drew his arm back for the kill, a thought hit him.
"At least it's alive." He lowered the swatter next to his waste and continued looking at the
insect. He then reached for a box and hand-picked the creature and placed him within the container.
As the days went by, he opened up his mind, revealing his loneliness, his reservations, his anxieties and fears to the roach. He imagined to himself that the little one was listening as its antennae moved side to side while he spoke. As is natural, his affection for his new-found friend grew. The hermit left tiny crumbs for him to eat. He even gave it a name--"Billie. "He had bonded.
Weeks passed, the snow melted, the buds popped out on the limbs. He was invigorated because now he could venture out into town to the bank for money to purchase supplies.
After hours with the hand-cranked generator, he managed to start the SUV. He packed up the box housing his new friend, and left for the dreaded mix with people.
Once there, he was surprised that he was able to say "Hello" much easier. When the bank teller greeted him, the words flowed evenly and without hesitation. He was excited and said to himself, "This is nice." Meeting other people was easier now. He might do this more often.
He decided to reward himself with a cup of hot coffee, brewed by someone other than himself. He stopped by a local diner requesting a "cup of black coffee." It then came to him in a flash: "Uh, Oh! I let the roach climb into my shirt pocket while in the car." About the same time, the little one, climbed out and jumped onto the counter!
Fearing the worst for sanitary reasons, the waiter grabbed a napkin and smacked his roach with his fist. Down went little Billie. He was killed instantly, to the waiter's delight.
The hermit wanted to knock him a good one, but left quietly with renewed fears of mixing with people once more.
Life can be like this man and his little roach. Deep and abiding friendships can be developed and grown with the least likely pairs. But sometimes only the slightest misunderstanding can end them.
May we all ponder this until we travel this road again.
Please Keep it between the lines.
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Comment by S.L.
The Political Brief
Comment by Edward Allen
Sanity Road
It is a kind you fill in the blank story. I know you are quick-witted enough to catch the moral.
Thank you for the comment.
Comment by Edward Allen
Sanity Road